Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(12)

Upon noticing me, the woman’s shoulders go rigid and she grabs the satchel at her feet.

“Rori?” A quizzical look comes from the man.

“Nothing, Pa, just something to add to the oil press.” Her gaze shifts to me, and a mask of indifference slides over her panic. “Did you need something?”

“I’m looking for someone, a woman named Phelia.” I run my finger through the dust coating an oil crock. I watch the woman’s reaction. She’s jumpier than a smuggler at the border.

“There’s no one by that name around here.” The man’s chair creaks as he leans back.

“Certain?” I dust my hands off on my pants. “Someone told me she came in here.”

The man shakes his head. “I’m sorry to say only my daughter—”

“Pa.” She stands, maneuvering so his view is blocked. “You’ve been given wrong information. If you don’t need oils, please leave.”

“Rori, don’t speak to customers that way.” The man rises and walks around the table to his daughter’s side.

She doesn’t match Phelia’s description. Despite what she says, the dust and worn marks covering her boots tell a different story. A story of travel. Based on that, her jumpiness, and Lirra’s tip, I’d wager this is the woman I’ve been following or the woman who will lead me to Phelia.

“No harm done.” I step back, looking around the shop. “I’ll be on my way.”

Rori nods, her posture relaxing. I turn and wind my way back to the door.



When I return to the church, Lirra’s a hissing rattler.

“Leave me again and our deal is off.” She cuts through the gardens, spitting out something about ruining me.

Finn trails behind. “Where’d you go?”

After checking that the road’s clear, I point to the far end where carts creak past the oilery. “To the oiler.”

Lirra spins around, plowing into me. “What game are you playing, hunter? Why would you leave us at the church? Are you trying to get out of our deal?”

“Settle down. No one’s reneging. I already told you I’d help find your friend and the girls. My word is good.”

She blasts me with a squinty-eyed scowl. “That had better be the case.”

We run from the shade to a shadowed space between buildings, and after confirming once more that the tavern kinsmen are nowhere in sight, on to the oilery. Finn and Lirra go inside while I head for the stables, hoping their presence will spook the oiler’s daughter into running. She has to be on edge after my visit. Gut instinct tells me she’ll run straight for the stables when they show up in her pa’s shop. Right to where I’ll be waiting.

It isn’t long before boot steps rustle against the hay-littered floor. I wait behind a tired colt, guessing it’s the oiler’s daughter’s based on the crust of dried, foamy sweat on the animal’s haunches. He’s the only horse here that appears recently ridden. Gets me angry she didn’t take care of her animal. Girl shouldn’t own a horse if she cannot take care of one.

The young woman approaches and slings her saddlebag over the animal’s flanks, barely missing my chest.

“Where are we headed next, Phelia?” I catch the edge of the burlap and swipe my hand inside to grab whatever she’s carrying.

She yelps and yanks the bag off the horse. “That’s not my name.”

“Maybe so, but half of Shaerdan thinks you’re her. And you’re going to tell me why.”

She pinches her lips together.

My sliver of patience snaps in half.

I thrust a pouch of herbs in her face, and she blinks. “No? Then perhaps your father can tell me about this. Not many carry a Channeler mix. Only ever knew one other woman to do that. A Spiriter. Used the herbs for healing teas and other charms.”

I move to her side, dagger in hand, swinging the small bag. Last time I saw something like it was on Enat’s hip. The old woman carried one everywhere. She used the herbs to make sleeping draughts, healing aids, and wards to protect her home. “An explanation. Now.”

She staggers. But there’s no escape—something that seems to dawn on her a moment later when her hands start trembling. “I—I don’t know her. She crossed my path near Padrin and somehow knew I needed money. All I had to do was make a tea every morning on my trip home. Her requirements were to go quickly, avoid you, and lead you to Sima.”

“What’s that?”

“The next town over.”

The town with the trap. “What does the tea do?” I glare. Her explanation of the herbs makes as much sense as a donkey in a mare race.

“It’s a charm. When people look at me, they see her.”

I didn’t know charms could work that way, but there’s more to Channeler magic than I’ll ever understand. Of course Phelia, a Spiriter—the most powerful type of Channeler—would know how to use her magic this way. But why wouldn’t she just disappear? Why keep me on the hunt for a month, chasing a mirage?

“Where’d she go?” The desperation in my words sounds like a growl.

“S-s-she didn’t say.” The girl cowers, wringing her hands. “But I, ah, watched her leave. She took the northern road that cuts through the Bloodwood Forest back to Malam.”